


Tales from the Archive

by kettish



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, Gen, Kink, prompt collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/pseuds/kettish
Summary: All the short Star Wars prompts I have written. I usually take prompts on my tumblr and write in batches. Stories vary in rating, relationship, characters, and eras, but I will tag appropriately as they're added and will do my best with chapter titles. :)





	1. skyywalkerfen--Qui&Obi, Gen.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick-fast beta by sanerontheinside! Thank you darling!!

skyywalkerfen: Since you asked ... ;-)   Tell me what happened between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan when Qui is finally well enough/stable enough to return home from Naboo.

skyywalkerfen: Or ... tell us what happened when Obi gave Qui back his lightsabre. (My note: ...who says he does? I’d make that fool go get himself a new one for being epic levels of stupid!)

This turned out a little angsty, but in my head they end up talking down the road and reconciling. Nothing terrible. :)

 

* * *

Qui-Gon healed slowly; it felt like an eternity from when he first woke (seared in half, there was pain in the middle and he could feel his legs and he could feel his head but dear Force the middle--) to when he was finally allowed to go back to Coruscant. In reality that time was only three weeks; the healers on Naboo were proficient, if not as experienced with lightsaber wounds as could be wished. They soon has him well enough to take the transport back to the Temple, where rehabilitation awaited.

 

As he dressed in an actual tunic and soft leggings for the first time since his injury, he realized he had no idea where is lightsaber was. The pit of his stomach felt he’d punched “up” on a turbolift with no gravity compensators, and he pushed through the meager pile of belongings looking for it. 

 

This lightsaber is your life, his master had taught him, just as his master had been taught. It was a fundamental rule of life as a Jedi. And here he was, weak, alone except for a Nabooian healer who was escorting him, and no ‘saber--! Qui-Gon started to panic, imagining the Sith who had nearly killed him coming after his transport, finishing the job--

 

No. This was wrong. He was a Jedi, and a Master at that.

 

“Emotion, yet peace,” he murmured, drawing breath slowly to calm his racing heart. Qui-Gon placed both large hands palm-down on the cool surface where his clothes had been piled and concentrated. The Living Force came to him easily, singing to him of the things that were still wrong in his body and the way it was slowly being put to rights. The voice of the Unifying Force was more difficult to touch, but with long practice he moved towards it and listened; there was no warning tone, and he let himself relax.

 

“Fool,” he chided himself softly. Someone would know what happened to his ‘saber. Obi-Wan would know, actually. Thus reassured, he nodded and left the room to meet the healer and go home.

  
  


The trip home was as taxing as the healers promised it would be, unfortunately. Qui-Gon had a long and storied history of ignoring healers’ recommendations and doing just fine, but apparently this was not the same. 

 

“Of course not,” the healer informed him primly. “You nearly died, Master Jinn. How often has that happened before?”

 

Qui-Gon could admit that it hadn’t. He’d been severely injured, sure, and nearly lost limbs once or twice, but usually it amounted to being run down or risking infection. He sighed carefully, mindful of the now-less-gaping hole in his middle, and resigned himself to another nap.

 

The problem with the Jedi Order, he decided, was that they prepared you for many things, but boredom was not one of them. Not of this magnitude--Qui-Gon was forbidden to do anything remotely physical, and the pain medication he was on made concentrating difficult so puzzles and games were out. 

 

It was frustrating. The healer was kind enough not to mention the shredded bits of ‘plast littering his bed, pulled apart with the Force out of sheer boredom.

 

His arrival at the Temple was equally disheartening. There was no dear Padawan Learner awaiting him at the landing pad, and Mace Windu told him why with his usual bluntness.

 

“He’s been Knighted,” Mace said with an unimpressed frown. “Even if he hadn’t been, surely you didn’t expect him to be pleased to see you? You already disowned him in front of the entire Council, Qui-Gon.”

 

“I did not--” Qui-Gon began strenuously, and Mace cut him off with a barked, derisive laugh.

 

“You most certainly did,” he replied, keeping his gaze forward as they walked to the healer’s ward. “I will say this: you trained him well. We didn’t know until after he was Knighted and was being assigned his first mission. That poor young man was floundering and we didn’t understand why until he admitted he hadn’t thought he’d be a knight for another few years at least. You did him wrong, Master Jinn.” Qui-Gon felt the blood wash out of his face as Mace spoke, and stopped when he finished.

 

“Surely he--” Qui-Gon started, then stopped as he thought frantically back through he and Obi-Wan’s interactions over the last few years. Time and again he’d thought Obi-Wan would be ready soon, and...sweet Force. He’d never said it.

 

“How did I--” he asked, baffled. Mace watched, vindictive amusement on his face that was fading into fond exasperation as the seconds ticked by.

 

“You didn’t,” Mace finally said. There was nothing more to say to that, and they went on to the waiting healer.

  
  


After the healers signed Qui-Gon in and were preparing to examine him, Qui-Gon caught Mace as he was leaving.

 

“Do you happen to know where my lightsaber is?” Qui-Gon asked, and Mace looked at him with suddenly far-away eyes. Qui-Gon had seen the look on Mace’s face before--he was likely experiencing a moment of minor prescience.

 

“Ask Knight Kenobi,” Mace said, and took his leave.

  
  


Ask Knight Kenobi, Qui-Gon mentally groaned. Like it was that easy! 

 

Obi-Wan had been assigned his first solo mission on Bandomeer, of all places. Ever since their run-in with pirates on the way to deliver Obi-Wan to the Agricorps, wash-out Initiates were escorted by Knights or Masters to their destinations. The last thing the Order wanted was for partially-trained Force-sensitives to be kidnapped for slavery or other nefarious purposes. This was usually conducted by new Knights or Masters with new Padawans, and Obi-Wan had pulled this duty.

 

He’d be back in another four days, and Qui-Gon supposed he could ask him then. Somehow though he thought Obi-Wan wouldn’t be in Temple very long; new Knights were run into the ground with basic, busy-work type missions during their first year. Although considering Obi-Wan’s extensive experience with Qui-Gon as a Padawan and diplomat, the Council might break tradition and assign him more extensive duties right away.

 

It did no good to brood over it, Qui-Gon decided. He was busy his first day back with physical therapy that left him gasping and wrung out at the end of the day; it was only thanks to the dutiful healer-apprentice that spent the evenings with him that he showered safely and ate before he passed out for the night.

 

Another surprise was dumped on him his second day back: the Battlemaster paid him a visit and handed him ‘plast notification of a demerit. Qui-Gon was sure his jaw hung open as the Master gave him a dressing-down for his foolhardy rush at the Sith warrior.

 

“You had a Padawan who has won every competition he’s been in for the last two years, and did extremely well in the Knight competitions as well, and yet you still persisted in moving forward against this Sith without him!” Master Drallig shouted. He’d been loud as soon as he walked in, boiling over with outrage. “What in nine Sith hells were you thinking, Qui-Gon?”

 

“I thought I could take him, though I obviously underestimated his skill,” Qui-Gon returned, glacially calm. Cin Drallig had shaped the early part of his lightsaber training personally, and then later helped refine Ataru for too-large Master Jinn as his request. Qui-Gon had counted him a trusted colleague, but this was disrespectful.

“You fought him once before,” Drallig growled lowly. “How did you do then, hm? Don’t I recall the report correctly? You were pressed to flee, after less than thirty seconds of battle?”

 

“Well--”

 

“No, Qui-Gon,” Drallig cut him off. Qui-Gon was getting tired of being cut off. “It was foolish. You should have died from that wound, and Force only knows why you didn’t.” Qui-Gon sat there mulishly, silent. “Pay your fine and report to me for extra training once your healer allows. You’re one of the best swordsman we have, and if that warrior had a master like they say, we’ll need you again.”

 

The Battlemaster left, striding out of the room aggressively. Qui-Gon glared out the door.

 

“Troll,” he muttered. Drallig Force-threw Qui-Gon’s own boot at him for the insult, then left.

  
  


The day Obi-Wan was due back, Qui-Gon woke up anxious. Everything grated; his bandages were rough against his new skin, his tea was too hot and too bitter, the healer’s solicitous nature insulted him. He finally retreated after his physical therapy to the hangar where Temple vehicles landed and sat on a bench near the main thoroughfare, hoping to spare others his snappishness.

 

He felt Obi-Wan’s shining presence in a landing transport as it came in, and stood. He walked towards it carefully, taking his time as he was already tired and sore from physio. He didn’t want Obi-Wan’s first sight of him in more than a month to be of Qui-Gon, tired and stooped and old. The young man had enough to deal with between Qui-Gon’s foolishness and being a new Knight; he didn’t need to worry over his old Master too.

 

Qui-Gon watched the boarding ramp with a serene mask firmly in place, and lost it the moment his dear Obi-Wan exited. He looked confident, at ease with himself in a way Qui-Gon had never seen him, and yet--tired, Qui-Gon thought with narrowed eyes, and unsettled. Qui-Gon nearly spoke up to suggest he go meditate before stopping himself.

 

Obi-Wan caught the aborted movement somehow from there, and his focus snapped onto Qui-Gon with intensity. And then, to Qui-Gon’s disquiet, Obi-Wan didn’t look away. Instead, he stalked down the ramp towards Qui-Gon without taking his eyes off him. Qui-Gon fought the urge to retreat and kept his feet rooted despite his discomfort.

 

Obi-Wan finally stood before him, and gave him a long, narrow stare before dropping his bag loudly next to his own feet. Qui-Gon looked down at him, confused and beginning to feel a bit hurt at this cold reception, when Obi-Wan spoke.

 

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said shortly. Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched and he had to forcibly relax it.

 

“Knight Kenobi,” Qui-Gon replied quietly. 

 

“I had hoped you would be the first to call me that,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon’s breath caught in his chest, and then he breathed out sharply in pain; clenching his abdomen was still not a good idea. Obi-Wan’s eyes darted down to Qui-Gon’s middle and then back up to his face.

 

“That is every Master’s hope,” Qui-Gon said when he could without a hitch in his voice. Obi-Wan turned his eyes down at towards the wall and Qui-Gon could feel that he'd said the wrong thing.

 

“I must go file my mission report,” Obi-Wan muttered, and picked up his bag. He made to shoulder past Qui-Gon but Qui-Gon put his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, asking him to wait.

 

“I know you are upset with me, so I won’t ask you to stay and talk,” Qui-Gon said, “but I do need my lightsaber.” That sentence drew an angry flush across Obi-Wan’s face, pinking his cheeks as Obi-Wan’s jaw jutted forward obstinately. 

 

“Go build one, then,” Obi-Wan snapped, and walked off. As Qui-Gon watched him go, he was startled to see a his lightsaber hilt bouncing against Obi-Wan’s hip.

 

This lightsaber is your life, his master had taught him. Qui-Gon ruefully decided that since Obi-Wan had saved his life, it was only fair Obi-Wan keep part of it.


	2. Breathe -- QuiObi, E, kink warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Qui-Gon likes to be choked. Just a little. Only 500 words this time!

Qui-Gon needed this, and Force only knew why. All he knew was that having Obi-Wan’s hand wrapped around his throat put an edge onto their usual play that thrilled him, let him sink into settled space in his head, and be silent.

Obi-Wan’s hand was hot, carressing Qui-Gon’s throat carefully as he gently applied pressure. It wasn’t a true chokehold, not one that would have rendered him unconscious, not the kind they practiced for unarmed takedowns. Instead it was just enough to trigger Qui-Gon’s awareness, an insistent mental alarm shrieking that he was being threatened. 

Qui-Gon gasped against it, no constriction to his throat and yet feeling short of breath. Obi-Wan stopped fucking him long enough to reach out in the Force, accessing tabs he kept open on his partner and checking closely that Qui-Gon was safe. Qui-Gon smacked his side, desperate for him to continue, and Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and then started up again with a warning squeeze.

“Oh, fuck, please,” Qui-Gon groaned, trying to push Obi-Wan’s hand down harder while he canted his hips up to let Obi-Wan in deeper. “Please, Obi-Wan, please--”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied calmly, and Qui-Gon felt a white-hot wave of lust wash down his spine even as he was frustrated beyond thought. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s muscles clench and leaned down to whisper into his ear. “No, Qui-Gon. You are too precious to risk that way.” 

He felt dizzy; the world spun and shrank down to three points of contact between them: Obi-Wan’s cock in Qui-Gon’s ass, Qui-Gon’s dick rubbing against Obi-Wan’s stomach, and Obi-Wan’s hand around Qui-Gon’s neck. There was quiet around him, silence broken only by the pounding of his heart and the slapping of skin on skin, and something tense eased in Qui-Gon’s chest.

He fell into oblivion gratefully, watching Obi-Wan groan and shudder above him as Qui-Gon petted the sides of his face and his shoulders, then pulled him down to nuzzle against his neck. There was still vast pressure in Qui-Gon's cock, and pleasure flooded gently through his body like an incoming tide when Obi-Wan reached down to pull at him in long, quick strokes. He came with a sigh, beyond words as he was buoyed up by the cresting wave of pleasure, and then lay there drowsily as he flowed back down. Obi-Wan left and returned to tidy them up.

“My precious man,” Obi-Wan murmured, gathering Qui-Gon up to cradle loosely against his side. “You look very relaxed, darling love.” Qui-Gon mustered the energy to hum, agreement, and closed his eyes. There was the scent and warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin, and the soft sheets below him, and Obi-Wan whispering loving nothings in his ear. It was perfect.


	3. Going to Get His Man--QuiObi, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> myurbandream: May I request: AU where some other Jedi go to Naboo, and instead Obi-Wan gets the Knighting he deserves and then Goes To Get His Man (Qui) now that they aren’t student-teacher anymore. As fluffy and sweet and adorable as you can make it, or alternately, as filthy as you like. Or both! I’m not picky. :D

Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the Council chamber, illuminated by the glow of lightsabers belonging to the highest Jedi in the Order and the light of dawn. The light haloed his hair and eyebrows and echoed the brightness in Qui-Gon’s chest: pride for this man, Qui-Gon’s friend, who Qui-Gon had helped to discover the depths of courage and strength inside himself and refine them into the work of art that stood before them. Obi-Wan had always had his doubts, and truthfully, so had Qui-Gon, in the beginning--but since then, Obi-Wan had shown himself to be made of the strongest steel, tempered with innate kindness and nobility.

“Welcome, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda called out over the thrum of their salute, and Obi-Wan broke out into a broad smile and bowed deeply. Qui-Gon couldn’t be prouder.

 

Later, there was a party. There generally was, following a Knighting ceremony; there were few celebrations Jedi observed as a whole, preferring to allow members of the Order their own choice of holidays, but this was something that everyone was happy to hail. Obi-Wan’s friends, peers, some of his teachers and Knights and Masters that had influenced him over the years were all there, and Obi-Wan beamed with pleasure at having so many of his favorite people in one place. Qui-Gon laughed at his side as Masters and Knights all regaling the younger set with stories from their own apprentice days. He kept an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder for much of the evening, thrilled that his student had finally reached the goal Qui-Gon knew had been so dear to him, and they drank and laughed and everyone danced late into the night.

In fact, Qui-Gon noticed Obi-Wan looped an arm around his waist as well, and reluctantly let Qui-Gon go if he needed to move away, pouting theatrically and then winking at him. Such joviality was rare for his former student. 

He is beautiful in his joy, Qui-Gon thought fondly, and tossed back one of the shots of alcohol that had been distributed to the room to take en masse. The alcohol burned his throat, but he was nowhere near drunk, keeping close tabs on his own metabolism--new Knights traditionally imbibed more than was wise at their celebrations, and he wanted to be sober enough to escort Obi-Wan to bed if need be.

Obi-Wan was plied with alcohol at practically every turn, and taken to dance, usually forgetting his drink at the table. His friend Reeft, with his prodigious metabolism, seemed more than happy to take care of them instead. Bant scolded him the first few times but then agreed, amused, when Reeft pointed out that they’d just get thrown away anyway. (Even in the Temple, drinks were never abandoned and then taken back up--it was less the threat of someone slipping drugs into your drink and more the possibility of grabbing a drink toxic to your species that was the concern.)

The night flew, and approaching dawn guests finally trickled out, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to wander their way back to their apartments. As they had much of the evening, they had their arms slung around each other, and they walked along the Halls happy and exhausted.

Obi-Wan didn’t stumble, and after a few minutes Qui-Gon realized something.

“You’re not even drunk!” Qui-Gon exclaimed. Obi-Wan threw his head back and laughed, his voice starting to go hoarse from how often he’d done so that evening. 

“I enjoyed myself,” Obi-Wan replied, “I don’t particularly like getting that drunk. You remember that time at the Senatorial banquet when I was fifteen…” Qui-Gon smirked, trying not to look too amused. Obi-Wan pinched his side just hard enough to make him jump in retaliation.

“I do recall warning you about the spiced orange wine,” Qui-Gon told him, mock-scolding as he poked Obi-Wan’s side. Obi-Wan poked him back. It escalated until Obi-Wan took off down the hall, giggling like a maniac and darting back at his pursuing former Master to try and get another shot in.

“I said don’t drink that much, Padawan!” Qui-Gon said as he managed to land another poke, this time angled up to Obi-Wan’s armpit. Obi-Wan shrieked mid-giggle. “You’ll regret it, Padawan!” 

“You did not!” Obi-Wan gasped, and rolled away to avoid further tickling. “You said, be mindful! I thought you meant of danger, not drunkenness!” Qui-Gon continued to dash after him, and sooner than anticipated they were back at their door. Obi-Wan slapped his hand to the lock an instant before Qui-Gon caught up, and had to dodge away from it instead of through it; the door slid shut and it was another two tries before he managed to get under Qui-Gon’s guard and shove him through the door.

They landed in a pile, Obi-Wan atop Qui-Gon, and both laid there a moment, stunned. The moment stretched, stretched, pulled itself longer like taffy until something finally gave, and Obi-Wan sighed and relaxed on top of Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon felt the tension of their play leave Obi-Wan and let his muscles loosen as well before gently circling his arms around his former student and holding him tightly.

“I am so proud of you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said from the floor. “You are a finer man than I have ever met, and I am honored to have been so close to you.”

Obi-Wan pushed up onto his elbows and looked down at Qui-Gon with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. Then, infinitely careful, he dipped down and pressed a kiss to Qui-Gon’s cheek. 

It was more than Obi-Wan had given him in a long, long time--not since he was a boy, perhaps fourteen. It wasn’t alarming so much as puzzling, especially when Obi-Wan lingered, nuzzling against Qui-Gon’s cheek and seeming to breathe in deeply. It took a shamefully long minute for Qui-Gon to understand, and when he did, he went rigid under Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan didn’t recoil, but instead dropped his head down to rest against Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“Ah, well,” Obi-Wan said, breath warming Qui-Gon’s neck, “I had to try.” 

Qui-Gon was alarmed by the dry self-deprecation of his tone, as though he had expected to fail and hadn’t disappointed that expectation. Qui-Gon’s mind raced as Obi-Wan sighed and started to gently pick himself up off of Qui-Gon.

“Don’t go,” Qui-Gon blurted. Obi-Wan looked down at him, confused. “Give me a moment, Obi-Wan. It was unexpected.” Obi-Wan chuckled, shaking his head, but lowered himself back down onto Qui-Gon nonetheless. Qui-Gon reveled in the feel of Obi-Wan’s body against his body and moved a hand in slow, soothing strokes up and down the small of Obi-Wan’s back while he thought.

“I thought you would have seen this coming,” Obi-Wan murmured. Qui-Gon snorted. “What? I was obvious, Master--I’m sure everyone in the Temple knew, and probably half of the dignitaries we worked with.”

“They did not,” Qui-Gon argued, indignant. Obi-Wan dropped his head onto Qui-Gon’s chest. “I’m a very observant man, Obi-Wan, that’s what politics and diplomacy are founded upon--”

“We all have our blind spots,” Obi-Wan replied. “Yours just happens to be Padawan-sized. Well, that does make me feel better, at least.”

“How so?” Qui-Gon asked. He realized he was still stroking Obi-Wan’s back, and wondered if he ought to stop. Obi-Wan wasn’t protesting, though, and it didn’t feel wrong. Qui-Gon was a man who listened to his instincts, and whose instincts served him well; he put a little more pressure into his movements, feeling tense muscles relax, and used his other hand as well. Obi-Wan’s eyes fell half-shut; if he could have purred, Qui-Gon was sure he would have been.

“This--this feels nice,” Obi-Wan stuttered, and Qui-Gon grinned, mind almost made up. “I tried--I tried approaching you before. Doing nice things for you, compliments. You never…”

“Never what?” Qui-Gon pressed in a rumbling, low voice. Obi-Wan grunted as Qui-Gon pushed his thumbs into the knots that always formed on either side of Obi-Wan’s tailbone.

“If you keep this up, I won’t be held liable for my reactions,” Obi-Wan warned. “You never showed any reaction. At first I--ah,” he broke off as Qui-Gon pressed his thumbs into the muscle of Obi-Wan’s lower back and pushed down along his spine all the way to where the it connected to the muscle of his behind.

“That’s quite a reaction,” Qui-Gon teased, and Obi-Wan huffed, then leaned up onto his elbows and rolled his hips decisively down against Qui-Gon’s. Qui-Gon sucked in a breath at the feel of Obi-Wan’s dick hardening against his hip and decided he’d thought about this long enough. 

Qui-Gon tucked a leg up over Obi-Wan’s hip and then pushed, rolling them over neatly and flipping Obi-Wan onto his back. Obi-Wan seemed startled but very pleased, and his lips parted in wonder as he looked up at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon’s hair fell down around them, a silver-streaked curtain that tickled the sides of Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan tried to blow a piece of it away from his mouth and succeeded only in getting it stuck further, and Qui-Gon swept it away from his face sheepishly.

“I hadn’t considered this,” Qui-Gon said once he’d wrangled his hair away from Obi-Wan’s face, “but upon review, Knight Kenobi, I believe that was a grievous error.” 

Obi-Wan’s face split into a wide smile as Qui-Gon leaned down to kiss it from his lips, and he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the evening.


	4. Failure to Rise--Gen, PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urbanspaceman: Qui-Gon is disabled after Maul’s strike and Obi-Wan is his caregiver (Yoda took Anakin or something, no ANakin please). They must deal with Qui-Gon’s damaged pride since he can’t take care of himself

In the millisecond before Maul’s fist made contact with Qui-Gon’s chin, Qui-Gon saw what was coming.

He was a master swordsman, one of the best in the order, and just because he’d fallen for it didn’t mean he couldn’t see what came next. He was about to die unless he moved right now--

Qui-Gon twisted away, throwing himself backwards in addition to the force of Maul’s punch, and got one step away before searing, unbelievable pain touched his back, made itself a part of him, and he blacked out.

(Later he’d hear the story as Obi-Wan told it, and watch the footage from the reactor. He’d never before in his life seen Obi-Wan move at those speeds and maintain his precision like that, and he looked forward with pride and pleasure to seeing Obi-Wan reach that level of proficiency reliably. He’d be the finest swordsman the Order had seen in generations.)

He came back around to the sluggish-wet feeling of bacta, and realized with confusion that he was actually immersed in it. He didn’t recall a time that had happened before; usually he awoke to find just a limb resting in a pan of the stuff, or bacta-coated bandages wrapping a wound. He found he was too tired to give it much thought, and fell back asleep.

The next time he gained consciousness he was being pulled out of the bacta tank. It was confusing, waking to find himself being manhandled and naked and wet, and he fought the hands holding him before one of the healers reached out through the Force to reassure him. He let the fight drain out of him with relief; he wasn’t sure still what was wrong with him, but he knew it was bad. 

the healer relayed to him in stilted telepathy. She was probably new to her talent, and only able to speak one word-concepts at a time, but it did the trick. Qui-Gon shut his eyes and let them scrape the excess bacta off of him, and wash him down, and when they gently laid him on a bed he fell asleep very quickly.

 

Qui-Gon heard the soft cadence of Obi-Wan’s voice before he opened his eyes, and before he even really knew where he was he knew he was safe. Obi-Wan didn’t sound alarmed in the least, and the respectful tone of his voice told Qui-Gon they were among trusted friends. 

“There you are, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “Open your eyes for us?”

Qui-Gon struggled to peel open his eyelids, and something wet and warm wiped away the crust, after which it was much easier. Obi-Wan was sitting in an arm chair next to Qui-Gon’s bed, grinning at him tiredly. A Bothan healer in Temple medical garb stood next to him, holding a wet washcloth and looking very pleased to see him awake. 

“Welcome back,” she greeted him. “I am Healer-Apprentice Yesc Fihin. How are you feeling, Qui-Gon?”

“Tired,” Qui-Gon grumbled. The healer nodded, checking the monitors he now noticed he was strapped to and then turning to him to lay a hand on his chest. 

“You’ve been asleep for a week,” Obi-Wan said. The Bothan was quiet as she delicately explored Qui-Gon’s body with hands and the Force. Qui-Gon stayed still as she worked.

“A week,” he repeated when she withdrew her hands. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Your spinal cord was severed,” Fihin responded absently as she made a note on her ‘pad. “There was very minor damage to your stomach, liver, and lungs, but the bacta took care of it quickly. You’ll have another immersed session in the tank in order to encourage nerve growth along your spine, followed in all likelihood by physical therapy.”

“Whatever I need to get well,” Qui-Gon agreed, and Obi-Wan and Healer Fihin both looked at him.

“It’s not going to be a matter of getting well, Master Jinn,” Fihin said after glancing back at Obi-Wan. “It will be a matter of learning to live with your injury. It was very severe.”

Qui-Gon tisked. “I’ve been injured before and gotten back to fighting trim. Just let me know what to do and I’ll see it done.”

She looked back at Obi-Wan again, uneasy, but then sighed, bowed, and left. Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon with a deep frown and Qui-Gon’s mouth was a flat line, his eyebrows up as he looked deeply unimpressed.

Obi-Wan kept his own counsel, and watched Qui-Gon huff and fuss with his IV line.

 

Qui-Gon was discharged to their shared apartment after the healers were certain he was stable. There was only so much bacta could do at a time before a being’s body needed time to restock its resources, and the two weeks between sessions would be spent mostly eating or sucking down the provided, highly-calorific drinks.

Qui-Gon was in good spirits most of the time, joking about how he could eat whatever he liked for once, and how Obi-Wan was “waiting on him hand and foot.” Obi-Wan frowned every time he said such, and Qui-Gon began to be irritated with him when Obi-Wan failed to laugh.

“Come, Obi-Wan, it was just a joke,” Qui-Gon said one time. Obi-Wan said nothing, but the set of his shoulder as he turned to open the fridge was tense and Qui-Gon thought he looked annoyed.

“One would think you’d be pleased I’m feeling well enough to kid,” Qui-Gon groused. This cold shoulder was getting old. Still nothing, other than Obi-Wan rummaging more intently. “Force’s sake--”

“If it’s just a joke, it doesn’t matter whether I laugh or not!” Obi-Wan exploded, slamming the fridge door and stalking out of the room. Qui-Gon stared at the doorway after him in shock, wondering what in seven Sith hells had just happened.

The only time Qui-Gon got particularly snappy was when Obi-Wan gently broached the idea of taking a few teaching rotations at the Temple. Qui-Gon had ignored him and a short time later asked him for a cup of tea, marking the subject well and truly closed. Obi-Wan had sighed quietly and gotten up to go get his drink.

Finally, finally, after two weeks of enduring low-grade pain, sponge baths, a catheter and being Force-lifted in and out of every chair or bed or device he wanted a part of, it was time for another round of bacta. Qui-Gon was beyond ready; he was desperate for time alone, to have a chance to take an actual water shower alone, dress himself, and use the toilet without assistance or medical-grade plast piping.

They sedated him, intubated him, and lowered him in, and he fell asleep to the soothing rushing of the bacta and the steady beat of his own heart.

They woke him up just after they removed the intubation; he could tell from the way his throat felt raw and open. He smiled wearily at the healer as they wiped him down, trying to convey his thanks at their care, and was grateful to be on the bed when they laid him on it. He was tired, despite having slept for the entire session--the sedatives and the work his body did in healing took so much from him. Obi-Wan was seated next to his bed, sending soothing thoughts and encouraging Qui-Gon to rest.

Qui-Gon slept.

 

“What do you mean, I still have enforced bed rest? I feel fine now! There’s no pain at all!” Qui-Gon demanded. His voice was perhaps a touch loud, he admitted later. Healer G’the scowled at him, standing protectively in front of Healer-Apprentice Fihin. 

“You need to give your body time to finish its healing before we can start you on physical therapy,” Healer G’the repeated with a snarl. As Fihin’s Master, he did not take kindly to Qui-Gon’s rudeness to his apprentice. “You will follow your instructions to the letter, Master Jinn, including the ones my apprentice gives you, or you will not walk again, much less anything remotely resembling a kata!”

Qui-Gon scowled, but it wasn’t his way to be openly defiant when it had no advantage. He nodded curtly and waited with ill grace for Obi-Wan to pull the hoverchair around and help him into it. At least he was allowed to sit up for extended periods now, he thought as Obi-Wan followed him through the halls. And he was allowed to steer his own damned chair.

Obi-Wan hurried in front of him once they reached their door and opened it for him just in time for Qui-Gon to push past him. Qui-Gon heaved a sigh of relief and parked the chair, then braced both his arms against the armrests in preparation to heave himself out of it.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan barked, and Qui-Gon’s hand slipped on one side--it slid past the arm rest and shot down, and he went with it, cracking his chin against the kitchen table.

“Karking son of a--what does it look like!” Qui-Gon roared back, shifting back to sitting and gingerly checking his chin for blood. 

“It looks like you’re about to completely disregard the orders of your healer and fall on your ass,” Obi-Wan snarled, stalking over to stand over him. Qui-Gon grasped both armrests tightly, trying to rein in his own temper. 

“I think you should go meditate on your anger, Padawan,” he managed to say in an even tone. Obi-Wan’s lip lifted in a snarl but then smoothed again, and Qui-Gon suddenly felt as though he were tempting a predator, fluttering pitifully on the ground like some avians did to pull attention away from their nest. Except he had no nest to protect, and was doing it for no reason other than folly.

“You forget yourself, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “I am nobody’s Padawan anymore.” 

And he left, without a single additional sign of temper.

Qui-Gon regarded Obi-Wan’s exit with suspicion, but finally sat up completely and frowned at the tabletop. He’d been confident in his ability to walk around before, but...Obi-Wan had made him unsure, and his chin still hurt like Sith. Perhaps a change of location would be better.

He maneuvered the hated hoverchair away from the table, glad it was near-silent as he passed Obi-Wan’s door and powered into his own room. The palm plate on his door was easy to reach, thanks to his long arms, and he made it through before it closed.

His room was exactly as he’d left it the day before, and Qui-Gon breathed a sigh of relief. He hated it when things in his personal area were moved. Directing the chair to sit next to the bed, Qui-Gon looked down to gauge distance and then backed it up a few steps’ worth of space.

“Doesn’t hurt a bit,” Qui-Gon muttered, shifting his upper body left and right to be sure. “Right. Bed.” 

He levered himself up with his arms, leaned forward and pushed off to avoid straining the muscles of his torso where Maul had struck, and used the muscles in his leg to stand.

Rather, he tried to. His legs did not obey, nor did his waist, and Qui-Gon went down hard to the floor, crying out in shock. Pain shrieked in his back and forearm, and one leg caught between the bed and the wall--it looked like it should be painfully tight, and Qui-Gon realized with rising panic that he couldn’t feel it at all.

He couldn’t feel anything below his waist.  
The bacta was supposed to fix this. The bacta was supposed to fix this--what hadn’t the bacta fixed this--

Obi-Wan came rushing in, disheveled and wild-eyed, and gasped when he saw Qui-Gon on the floor, starting towards him with a pained look on his face.

“Don’t touch me!” Qui-Gon shouted. “I’m fine, Force dammit!”

Obi-Wan froze, and then slowly pulled his arm back so that he was standing, staring down at Qui-Gon. The hurt, bewildered look on his face was taken over by a flash of insight, and then Obi-Wan pressed his lips together firmly and looked at Qui-Gon inscrutably.

“Fine,” he said. “You don’t need my help, then. I’ll be in the ‘fresher; I spent most of the last two days at your bedside, and need to get cleaned up.”

He suited words to deeds by turning and walking calmly out the door. It swished shut behind him, and Qui-Gon heard the sound of first Obi-Wan’s bedroom door opening as the man fetched his clothes, and then the refresher door as Obi-Wan went in. The sound of a water shower started up and Qui-Gon realized he was distracting himself from what was happening.

I’m stuck here. Qui-Gon finally told himself. My legs do not work, and I cannot feel anything below my waist. 

Healer Fihin’s words, and Obi-Wan’s, and all the uneasy looks he’d received from both former apprentice and healers all came back to him. Learning to live with your injury. Teaching rotations. Never walk again.

“Oh, ghods,” Qui-Gon moaned, and felt humiliated tears come to his eyes. The severity of his condition and the surety that his field career was done came crashing down on his head, and he sobbed, alone, twisted at an odd angle on the floor, until he could cry no more and laid there in complete exhaustion.

The door swished open quietly, and he couldn’t be bothered to even look up. Obi-Wan stepped quietly over to him and then knelt down, tucking his heels beneath him and gently pushing Qui-Gon’s hair out of his face.

Qui-Gon shut his eyes, but leaned minutely into it. Obi-Wan sighed softly and caressed his cheek with a thumb before kneeling up. He pulled the bed away from the wall enough so that Qui-Gon’s leg fell free, and caught it before it could hit the ground or get stuck again, then encouraged Qui-Gon to sit up. Once up, Obi-Wan shifted to one knee and looped Qui-Gon’s arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and lifted him easily back up and onto the bed.

Qui-Gon had a small quilt that he favored as a lap blanket, and Obi-Wan fetched it from the couch and brought it back to the bedroom for him. Another trip out of the room saw him returning with two mugs of good tea, Qui-Gon’s fixed up exactly as he preferred it, and Obi-Wan pressed it into his hands insistently.

Then, that done, Obi-Wan climbed up onto the bed with Qui-Gon and sat with him, their bodies firmly touching from shoulder to toe though Qui-Gon only felt half of it. Obi-Wan slid his arm through the crook of Qui-Gon’s elbow and then laid his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, doing his best to provide comfort.

It was gentle, and warm, and Qui-Gon felt safe against a reality that had suddenly changed in his mind. Where once he’d been a warrior of the highest class, now he was an invalid, disabled, possibly never to wield a lightsaber again. Fresh tears slid down his cheeks as he held his tea close to his chest, and he grieved for the things he could no longer do.

Qui-Gon Jinn, fool though he was, could no longer ignore the fact that he had to move on. Once his tears had stopped (for the time being--he knew there’d be many more), he tipped his head to rest against Obi-Wan’s, who had sat quietly and let him process it all with the security and warmth of the best of friends.

“Teaching rotations, you said,” Qui-Gon asked quietly, his voice rough. Obi-Wan gave him a small smile and started telling him about his options


	5. A Real Bargain, QuiObi, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon is gone, Obi-Wan thinks, and nothing will be alright ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For punsbulletsandpointythings, who prompted: "Holy fuck I thought you were dead never do that again Im gonna kiss you here and now to make sure im not imagining you"

The pain in his left arm was nothing compared to the echoing cavity of his chest, and Obi-Wan knew he was lucky to have survived both. The severing of a training bond without the proper precautions and procedures was enough to send even the strongest of Jedi into shock, blanching their skin and chilling their bones as surely as a physical blow would. But Obi-Wan didn’t feel that which had been described once, in answer to a curious question plied to his teachers, instead only able to focus on the gaping absence in his mind.

It wasn’t as though Obi-Wan had these thoughts in any particular order. The heavy painkillers the healers had him on kept the mental pain wrapped in clouds and blunted its sharp edges where they might have torn into his soul, and he grieved his fallen Master in a distant manner whenever thoughts of him passed into his head. If Obi-Wan had been faster, perhaps he could have--he reached out into the Force, desperate to ascertain the truth of that statement, but the Force slipped between his fingers at the same rate as his focus, and he fell asleep again before he could finish the attempt.

Days later, he remembered that a more personal pain lay sleeping too, deep within the umbrella of the pain of losing his Master: Obi-Wan had planned to wait until his Knighting to ask to court Qui-Gon, when he could leave his reticent Master no logical excuse to deny him. (Except, of course, the possibility that Qui-Gon might not feel the same way about Obi-Wan--which Obi-Wan would accept, and do his best to nurture their friendship past the faux pas.) 

He had planned to offer himself in the most formal fashion, expressing his sincerity in the most earnest way he knew how, by stepping forward once his braid was cut, and putting it into Qui-Gon’s hand, and then pulling him down to kiss him chastely in the privacy of the gardens where he knew Qui-Gon would prefer their personal ceremony.

That chance was gone forever, now. He’d never have discover what it felt like to press his mouth against those warm, mobile lips, or know the exact texture of his beloved’s beard against his own stubble in the mornings, or any of a thousand things Obi-Wan had dearly wished to know about Qui-Gon. Tears burned in his eyes, never spilling over, and exhausted he fell asleep once more.

He awoke to the sensation of gentle tugging against the IVs in his arms, and when he pried his eyelids open he saw that the Calibop nurse he vaguely recalled tending to him previously was unhooking his IV bag from his stand. 

“Knight Kenobi, good morning!” she chirped, crest feathering upward cheerfully. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” he muttered, still waking up, and decided to add, “groggy.”

“Well, good news then--the head healer says you’re out of the woods, so we can cut back your sedatives and painkillers, it should allow your thinking to clear,” she informed him. He grunted agreement, trying not to be surly.

“You can share a room with Master Jinn now as well! I know you must be bored stiff in here all by yourself. It’ll be good for you to have company,” she went on, and Obi-Wan’s mind blanked. 

“What,” he said, bewildered, as the nurse laid the IV bag against his chest. He brought his uninjured arm up to hold it steady at her urging so that it wouldn’t slide down to his lap, and she thanked him before moving behind his bed to activate the repulsors and move it out into the hallway.

The tick-tacking of her claws against the floor went unnoticed as Obi-Wan stared unseeing at the ceiling, eyes wide as he wondered what in the known galaxy the healers here were thinking. Did they think Jedi were masochists? That this was some part of their culture or tradition, to share rooms with the dear and recently departed, their revered dead--? Little Gods, did they not even understand basic cleanliness--?

“Here we are then!” the nurse sang, hitting the panel on the wall with feathered palm and opening the door, then pushing his hoverbed in. Obi-Wan almost could not stand to but forced himself to look at the other bed anyway, and the broad, tall form that occupied it to the brim, the body which he’d dreaded seeing again in its empty, damaged state.

Except instead of waxen skin, instead of forever-shut eyes and slack arms, of a mouth empty of words and breath--there was Qui-Gon. Alive, speaking softly with Anakin who sat at his bedside. There was the shifting and slight fall of his hair as he turned towards the door, and the bright relief in his smile that touched deep down, and was only ever reserved for Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan knew he must have finally lost his mind.

“Fucking hells,” he groaned, voice cracking with grief, and Qui-Gon’s joy turned to alarm at the sound.

“Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan faltered. He didn’t understand--he could never have imagined the complex expression Qui-Gon was sending his way: relief and fear, and confusion, and terrible suspicion that he knew what Obi-Wan was thinking, and under it all the softness of the kind of love Obi-Wan had feared he might never have from this man.

He might be real. Obi-Wan had to know, and in a wild moment he decided that if this was a product of a broken mind he might as well have a last fleeting pleasure before the hallucination fell apart.

He heaved himself up on one arm, discarding the IV bag, and threw himself off of the bed despite the nurse’s alarmed cry. He couldn't look away from Qui-Gon, his eyes locked on the other man’s, not even to dodge ANakin, who skittered back out of his stumbled path just in time.

It must be a hallucination, he thought, because Qui-Gon anticipated him, holding his arms open, and Obi-Wan fell upon him and kissed him like a man who has gone his whole life without enough water and had just discovered rain.

It was desperate, and Qui-Gon cried out, startled, before yanking him in closer and returning the kiss with matching fervor. Seconds later the nurse was at OBi-Wan’s shoulder, urging him off of Qui-Gon’s injured side, and Obi-Wan learned what Qui-Gon looked like with wet lips and hunger-dark eyes, and he understood.

“You’re alive,” he breathed, and choked back a sob, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I am,” Qui-Gon agreed, with the most tender look Obi-Wan had ever had the privilege to witness, and reached up. He ran one broad palm down Obi-Wan’s shoulder, down to the elbow, and stopped, reverent, just shy of the point at which the Sith’s lightstaff had cut through and removed the lower portion of Obi-Wan’s limb. “Thanks to you.”

Obi-Wan reached over to pull Qui-Gon’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it, and privately decided he’d never made a better bargain than his hand for Qui-Gon’s life.


	6. Bedsharing--QuiObi, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For QuiObi Week 2018, Day 1: Bedsharing! I had to drag this out of my head but I'm pleased to at least have gotten it done. Enjoy!

Qui-Gon stayed in the food prep area, quietly fuming, for the entirety of the 12 hour flight. He’d consumed three cups of sub-par tea, and by this point could practically feel his teeth floating, but to reach the ‘fresher he’d have to go past the cockpit. Obi-Wan was probably chatting happily with the pilot and copilot in the cockpit, and so Qui-Gon would stay where he was for the time being. 

It was perhaps a bit childish, but nobody could push his buttons like his partner. Qui-Gon needed to stay where he was until he could trust himself not to snap and snarl at the man again.

The food prep area was a bit...sparse, but that was to be expected. This was a short range ship, meant to go on hops no longer than a rotation, maybe two if the need was great. The refrigeration unit was filled with takeout containers of leftovers from various spaceport cantinas from various planets within that range, along with drinks, ration bars, and rotting remnants of fresh foods the crew may have had aspirations of cooking at some point.

Qui-Gon wrinkled his crooked nose remembering it. 

It was still better than dealing with Obi-Wan at the moment.

He glowered, brow low and mouth in a firm downward arc, and leaned back in his seat to wait out the remaining hours.

 

Obi-Wan, for his part, stayed in the cockpit. Qui-Gon in full dudgeon was a thing to behold: a rumbling thunderhead blowing into town, with the promise of lashing wind and rain. Unlike the thunderheads, the wind and rain wouldn’t come forth unless Qui-Gon was provoked further, and eventually he would regain his usual equilibrium. But it was a sobering (and slightly amusing) thing for Obi-Wan to realize that he was especially adept at making Qui-Gon angry.  
Just as Qui-Gon was excellent at pushing all of Obi-Wan’s buttons. Obi-Wan scowled at the synthleather back of the pilot’s seats.

The ones we love know all our soft places, he thought to himself with a harrumph, listening to the pilots chat in front of him. He refused to let Qui-Gon run right over him on this. That man got his way enough of the time already; Obi-Wan knew he was right, and wasn’t going to let himself be persuaded otherwise.

Even if he was really, really thirsty, and all the water was in the food prep area.

The chrono on the control panel ticked down, showing they had another four hours to go. Obi-Wan settled in to wait it out.

 

Their arrival went unmarked at the spaceport. There were no diplomats to greet them, nor guide to show them where to go. Their mission was an unusual one in many ways, but the most odd of all was how their assistance had been requested.

“There are many refugees in a camp, here,” a government official had said, with a bland expression. “Dirty, terrible people. They will be disposed of in two weeks’ time...unless someone volunteered to relocate them.” 

The Council had looked at each other, exchanging thoughts and impressions, but it was Depa Billaba who spoke. 

“You don’t have permission to ask this of us, do you,” she said gently, and the bland expression on the official’s face broke for a split second before he recovered

“Of course not, why would I want to spare their filthy lives?” he sneered. It was forced, tension at his eyes and mouth tightening existing wrinkles, and later as he watched Obi-Wan had felt sympathy for this man. 

“We understand,” Master Windu had agreed, voice low. “We will do as we must, of course. You cannot be expected to stand against the entire Jedi Order.”

The man nodded once with a jerky up and down movement and the transmission cut off. 

A whistleblower, sending information over a monitored band. It wasn’t the first time they’d been called in for similar situations, but it was the first in recent memory in which they’d been called directly. Another Jedi team was arriving on a seperate transport to try and find the man and any family he might have to get them offplanet and give them asylum on Coruscant if they wished.

Obi-Wan hoped he’d take them up on it. The universe needed no more violent deaths, and he’d done a brave thing. 

 

They moved through the city in tandem, he and his lover, meeting no resistance and finding the encampment set up outside city limits with ease. A set of guards saw their cloaks and ‘sabers and decided that fighting Jedi was above their pay grade and departed, tossing Qui-Gon their keys as they went. Other workers there seemed equally pleased or ambivalent that the Jedi had arrived, and a few outright cried. 

“Their execution was not a popular decision,” Obi-Wan murmured, and Qui-Gon hummed in response but said nothing else. Right. They were still arguing with each other. Obi-Wan said nothing but went back to organizing the clearance of a rudimentary landing zone. Once done, he activated a landing beacon in the middle of the field and jogged back towards where the people were being held. A large transport ship piloted by Jedi was in orbit waiting for their signal and would be looking for the beacon.

There was a short skirmish once the encampment’s “security” saw the ship approaching and the Jedi leading the captives out of their cells. The security guards didn’t stand a chance; Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan cut through them like a vibroblade, then went right back to what they had been doing before. No other guards or workers gave them any trouble.

Once all three hundred and fifty men, women, and children were accounted for and loaded on the ship, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan boarded themselves and helped get everyone to berths as the pilots left the atmosphere. They weren’t followed or approached by any spacecraft, and Obi-Wan had to wonder if the official who had called them had really been the only one who couldn’t stomach the idea of mass murder.

The flight to the system the refugees were being escorted to was short, a mere four hours, and they were kept running until then with rendering medical aid and reassuring these people that they were safe now. A tent city had been erected for them at their new home, and when they finally arrived they all saw that the people of their new home had tried their best to be welcoming. The tents were spacious, and had comfortable cots and thick blankets inside, as well as a small refrigeration unit, cooking surface, and heater.

It was heaven in comparison to what these people had just been through, and to be entirely honest, it looked pretty nice to a pair of weary Jedi as well. There were a few extra tents and rain clouds were looming on the horizon, and so when Qui-Gon disappeared, Obi-Wan assumed his company was not welcomed, and found a tent to sleep in on the outside edge of the town. It hurt, a little, to be rejected, but if Obi-Wan had learned anything of his lover and former Master, it was that cool-down time was integral to his wellbeing. Qui-Gon had a difficult time releasing his anger or frustration when the source of the issue was nearby.

 

He woke two hours later when his cot toppled over, the dirt underneath one leg having been eroded by the water streaming into and through his tent. He hit the water with a shriek of shock and scrambled to get out of the wet area, then stared around as he realized that the entire floor of the tent was wet. His first thought was for the other refugee tents, so he hurried outside wrapped in his cloak for warmth and was relieved to see that his had been the only one effected. Several others were on the edge of the runoff but the seals on their tents had held and he didn’t think they would be as bad off as his had been. 

That still left the issue of where he would now sleep. Obi-Wan sighed, feeling his damp clothing sticking against his skin, and struck out across camp to find another spare tent. An hour of sloshing through mud and shivering later, Obi-Wan realized there were no more, and also realized what he would now have to do.

He sighed, and headed towards Qui-Gon’s tent.

Qui-Gon’s spirit in the Force felt like warmth and growing things, and when he was asleep it felt like the cold of winter when the world slept and seeds and roots slumbered in the soil. It was easy to pinpoint among so many who weren’t Jedi, and was equally simple to find amongst the Order for its uniqueness. Obi-Wan walked unerringly to where his lover slept, and humphed one more time to himself before ducking in.

“Whazzat,” Qui-Gon mumbled from the bed, alerting to the sound of someone entering, and then, “Obi-Wan, what…?”

“I’m soaked and cold, Qui-Gon. Scoot over.” Qui-Gon, apparently too sleepy to to argue, did as asked as Obi-Wan stripped off his wet things and laid them out on the other cot to dry next to the heater for tomorrow. Then Obi-Wan slid into the cot, crammed up against him in the tight space, and Qui-Gon hesitantly brought his arms around him.

“Are we still arguing?” Qui-Gon asked quietly, face only half illuminated by the low light of the heater. Obi-Wan snorted. 

“Yes.”

“I do not snore,” Qui-Gon started to argue, exhaustion slurring his words, but sleep was dragging him back down now that his partner was in his arms, pressed skin to skin against him and warm.

“You do, Qui. Like a fucking bantha. Now go to sleep please.” 

Qui-Gon huffed, but settled his chin on top of Obi-Wan’s head and pulled him a little closer. Obi-Wan burrowed in against his chest, sighed, and fell asleep almost immediately. Qui-Gon had only time enough to muse that sometimes their stubborn natures really did not work in their favor until he too fell asleep, and then there was only sweet dreams.


End file.
